


How to Ruin a Perfectly Good Strop

by PatPrecieux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John is a Saint, M/M, Sherlock is a Brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:11:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8708479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: John has committed an unpardonable sin. Sherlock exacts retribution. Now, if only John would notice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Don't you just hate it when someone spoils your bad mood?!

"The cheek, the utter nerve of the man!" Sherlock was slumped in the back of the cab storing this latest bit of outrage in his Mind Palace. Not that he would forget any time soon.

 

The case had been a 2 at best, and as if that wasn't bad enough, Garfield Lestrade hadn't even acknowledged the insult Sherlock had directed at him. Then, IT happened.

 

John, no John Watson, no Doctor Watson had not only found a clue Sherlock had missed but had announced it out loud!! The result was immediate praise from the Inspector and fury from one very affronted consulting detective. By now, after weeks of working together, surely the Doctor knew to only share observations with Sherlock! The very idea! 

 

Then to make matters worse, John was seemingly oblivious to his appalling error. The final indignity had come in the form of a text summoning John to a patient emergency at Bart's. Sherlock had even been denied the satisfaction of storming off in the cab leaving John stranded. His infuriating boyfriend had already left with, could you believe it, a smile and "See you at home luv."

 

The cab pulled up to 221B, further irritating Sherlock who,for once, had to pay the fare himself. Tearing at his coat and scarf, he stomped up the stairs, threw open the door, and added a final statement by slamming it - hard.

 

Any pleasure he derived from the noise quickly disappeared when Mrs. Hudson failed to come running in response. "Out then, how terribly rude," Sherlock thought. Then he spat, "John, tea, NOW!" 

 

Some minutes later, quite annoyed that his tea had not arrived, Sherlock was forced to accept that he was alone in the flat. Rising from his chair and pacing the floor he railed to the heavens. "Hear this John Hamish Watson, your behavior is beyond the pale and your day of reckoning is at hand."

 

Sherlock threw himself down on the couch and prepared to unleash the strop to end all strops. He would take no prisoners!

 

Gearing up for Armageddon was exhausting, Sherlock soon fell into an unwelcome nap. Afterall, one needed to be alert to execute the perfect strop, but his eyelids betrayed him.

 

His next conscious thought was of a wonderful smell and a pressure on his neck. Prying open his eyes, Sherlock found himself staring at John's left ear as the doctor kissed the warm expanse of neck above the detectives collar.

 

"There you are you brilliant man. When you didn't answer my texts, I thought you might be involved in an experiment. Glad to see you were sleeping." Before Sherlock could think, John kissed him deeply and prattled on. "You should change clothes luv. Get comfortable. I went three tube stops out of the way to get those Thai dumplings you like so much; and, yes, some of that terrifyingly sugar infused plum sauce you could drink like water."

 

To his horror, Sherlock's brain sent the message, "How lovely", to his mouth. Fortunately, he swallowed the words before they could escape, and immediately reprimanded his Mind Palace with "Strop, you imbecilic brain, Strop!" Grunting he turned his back to John.

 

The older man laughed,"Like that is it? The great detective needs to be coaxed. Well, I can arrange that," John purred as he resumed that infernal kissing. Sherlock didn't budge;" "What was the man's problem?" his mind screamed."Couldn't he take a hint?"

 

Apparently not. "Right then, it's obvious you're suffering from leadus arseius. Best treat it right away." Without warning, John attacked Sherlock's ribs with his talented fingers. The younger man jerked upright and nearly shrieked, "Jaaaawwwwnnnn!" "There you see, best prescription ever. Now up you get. Change clothes while I make tea and set out the food," John said ruffling Sherlock's unruly curls.

 

The brat practically flew to the bedroom. Was there no end to the indignities he would be made to suffer? John, the idiot, buying him food, making him laugh, messing up his hair, his HAIR. Well, he'd not be caught unawares again."Time to get my strop on!"

 

Sherlock found his resolve weakened, however by the dumplings and plum sauce. His transport did need fuel, and it wasn't his stomach's fault that his boyfriend was a moron. After eating, the detective regained his footing.

 

"Sherlock luv, fancy some crap telly?" 

"No thank you, John, I rather prefer going to bed," the younger man said in what he hoped was a dismissive tone. The tone John heard, though, was more of a carnal nature.

 

Sherlock had barely settled under the duvet when he was shocked to feel John crawl in beside him. Judging by how quickly John grabbed a left handful of Sherlock's ass, and a right handful of his cock and balls, the detective deduced his 'tone' had NOT imparted the intended message.

 

As John began a simultaneous rear and frontal military campaign on Sherlock's assets and bits, the younger man gave a loud moan. He could 'feel' John's smile, "Good, yeah?" 

The wailing sirens went off in the detective's head. 'Warning, Warning Sherlock Holmes. Strop alert ! Strop alert ! The perimeters are being breached !' "No ! Stop !" 

 

Stunned, the doctor sat up in alarm. "Lock what's wrong? Did I hurt you ?" 

 

For a moment, John's concern caused him to lose focus. "What, ah no, bloody awful headache." 

 

"I'm so sorry pet. Shouldn't have brought that sweet plum sauce. Bet the damn stuff has MSG. Come here darling and let me massage your head." 

 

"Not necessary John."

 

"Course not, but I won't have you in pain if I can help it. Sides, tomorrows's 30th November. Have to have you better for 1st December. Never too soon to start decorating and such."

Poor Sherlock, now forced to submit to a scalp massage, and talk of the dreaded Holidays ?! This was the last straw. Tonight was at an end, but tomorrow he would unleash "Strop-nado!"

 

Morning found Sherlock ready for war. The enemy was already gone however. In the doctor's place, in bed, was a note. "Sorry to leave early. Hope your headache is gone. Treat waiting for the best boyfriend in the world, on the kitchen table. Love, John."

 

Groggy, Sherlock stumbled to the loo, then the kitchen.There he found a bag of his favorite croissants from the bakery a cab ride away, and a jar of the violet organic honey he had been talking about for days. "If he thinks this will make up for yesterday, Doctor Watson has another think coming," Sherlock fumed. 

 

He made tea and then started to bin the baked goods and honey. Then he thought, "Why should I? Likely my money paid for this, and John doesn't get any. That should teach him a lesson!" 

 

His morning filled with research, Sherlock only checked his phone at noon. Half a dozen messages from John, "U ok?" "How was B'fast?" "Head better?", ad nauseam. Well, he just wouldn't respond. Hopefully another point made. The strop continues.

 

About an hour later, Mrs. Hudson came up with a delivery from a local store. "Sherlock, didn't you hear the bell?" 

He looked up from his microscope,"Boring, I knew you would attend to it." 

 

She tsked at him fondly,"I swear, John has spoiled you rotten!" 

 

His eyebrows shot up in disapproval. "Absolutely not!" 

 

"Oh yes,young man. Any more spoiled and I'd have to fumigate."

 

Sherlock strode regally over to stand on the coffee table, then flop onto the couch. "I take it you didn't come just to insult me."

Martha shook her head, "No you child, this parcel is for you."

 

Waving his hand in the air, Sherlock sighed, "Bring it here then." 

 

Looking annoyed and bemused, she handed him the package and curtsied, "As you wish your Majesty." 

 

He waved his hand again, "You may go." 

 

Eyes wide, the feisty landlady said nothing until she went out the  
door,when she snorted, "Beyond Spoiled."

 

Sherlock scowled, he could not recall ordering anything from this tobacconist. With how unreasonable John was about his smoking, the detective only bought cheap cigarettes from his homeless connections. Opening it, he found a packet of loose tobacco leaves and a note. 

 

"Dear, hope your day is going well. Had a patient this morning from Nepal who told me he only chewed ( should have given him a caution but he's 94 ) anyway, only chewed this rare tobacco that he has to order special. It seems it is never imported to retailers, only individuals. The owner of the shop is his friend so he takes delivery. My patient agreed to let me have a sample. Have to tell you, I got so excited, rushed right down and got it for you. Know it's been ages since you've had a "worthy" specimen to add to your tobacco ash blog. Hope this serves. Wish I could have brought it myself, but I'm swamped at the clinic and just wanted you to have it right away. See you tonight. Love, Your John."

 

Sherlock jumped up and tore at his hair, "How can that stupid man not realize how hurtful, thoughtless and utterly ridiculous he's being?! I place him in Coventry, and he wanders around, head in a fog as if the world is filled with unicorns farting rainbows! Unbelievable does not even begin to describe the madness."

 

Marching into the bathroom, he opened the lid of the toilet meaning to flush the tobacco, and stopped. "What reason is there to not further my research. I'll simply tell John the sample was inferior and useless. Perhaps he'll begin to catch on." Gleefully rubbing his hands together, the brat went to catalogue the newest addition to his blog.

 

Nearing tea time, Sherlock expected Hudders to arrive with her usual offering, finally yelling down to her when she failed to appear. Oddly, she yelled back for him to "Get your own bloody tea. Not your housekeeper you posh git!" He shrugged and attributed her pique to her being in need of an herbal soother.  
There was no explaining, tho, why she felt she had permission to be cross with him !

 

Content with more honey on toast for tea, Sherlock leaned back admiring his updated blog when a knock came on the door. How had he not heard the approach of, he assumed, an embarrassed Hudders coming to apologize.

 

"If you wish me to excuse your recent behavior, you'll need to come in." 

 

The door creaked open, "I don't feel in the least in need of your pardon, brother dear, but I am in."

 

"Mycroft! Who the fuck asked you to come here?"

 

"Language, little brother. I am here at the behest of your good doctor. Whilst consulting with him today he -"

 

Sherlock erupted, "Consulted with- how dare you go over my head to speak to my lackey?!"

 

Mycroft leaned heavily on his umbrella in surprise. "Your - lackey? So, I'm to assume you would prefer the next time my secretary has a medical question about her Grandfather's anal fissure that I come directly to you ?"

 

The younger man sputtered,"Don't be absurd. Just explain!"

 

"I was endeavoring to so do when I was interrupted. As I was saying, during our conversation John mentioned your possible migraine of last evening. He was concerned that your lack of communication with him today might mean a return of your pain. He was distressed to the extent that I offered assistance. Dr.Watson asked if I might come to his office in order to bring you something for your discomfort." Mycroft held up a bag from which he withdrew a glass bottle. " This is what I was instructed to deliver along with this note." He passed both to Sherlock.

 

"You have discharged your duties, Mycroft. Now kindly piss off!"

 

"Always a delight, brother dear. I will indeed take my leave, but wait. There is more to this than a simple ailment. What can be deduced?"

 

The detective actually stamped his foot. "You will not deduce me or anything about my life! I forbid it! Do you hear me?"

 

"Sherlock, the whole of Baker Street hears you. As for forbidding anything-" Mycroft stopped, and at once began to smile a smile that was disturbingly almost orgasmic. "Oh,I see. The migraine, your silence, your fit of temper over a gesture of kindness made by your doctor."

 

"Shut your slobbering obese piehole, you prick!"

 

"Do you kiss your Doctor with that mouth Sherlock? No reply is necessary. It's as clear as day. YOU, dear brother, are in the midst of throwing an epic strop, and Doctor Watson, the object of your ire, has not one clue. Priceless Locky, simply delicious!"

 

The detective began to advance on his older brother. "Mycroft, if you are not gone from here in a heartbeat, your heart will no longer be beating!"

 

The British Government raised his hand, "I will bid you Good Day but with this caveat. If you wish for your plan to succeed, perhaps you should inform the good Doctor what it is so that he might act accordingly. Ta Ta brother mine." 

 

Mycroft paused, debating the wisdom of deducing what had hit the door on his way out, but instead, deduced that discretion was the better part of valor. And swinging his umbrella like a playful youth, he exited Baker Street doing the unthinkable- whistling.

 

Disgusted and livid, Sherlock grabbed the bottle from John to hurl it at the wall, then stopped. He unscrewed the top and inhaled. Closing the bottle, he opened John's note.

 

"My dearest, wish I could reach you, but your lack of texting can only mean that damn migraine is back. I'm so sorry love. This is lavender oil. Rub some on your throat, upper lip and place a cloth saturated with it on your forehead. Keep the room dark and quiet and try to rest. I'll be home by seven to take care of you. Until then, I am always and forever, Your Loving John."

 

Sherlock sighed heavily. Now, he really DID have a headache. There was nothing for it then. He applied the oil as directed and stretched out on the bed to wallow in self-pity and misery.

 

He was next aware of strong fingers carding gently through his hair and caressing his cheek.

 

"Hello you magnificent man, how's the head ?"

 

Sherlock blinked and, for the moment forgetting his plan, leaned into John's touch. "S' good. Lavender really worked."

 

"I'm glad. It was really nice of Mycroft to -"

 

"John, please. My brother's name is never to be mentioned in any area in which we have, are, or will have sex!"

 

John giggled, "Then we'll never be able to speak his name ever again you numpty."

 

Sherlock tried to scowl, but the smile pulled at one side of his mouth. "One can only hope, John, one can only hope."

 

John refreshed the cloth for Sherlock's forehead and busied himself in the kitchen. Soon, there was tea and supper.

 

Reluctantly, Sherlock came to the table secretly delighted to see gooey toasted cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. He would never admit his fondness for such a kiddie meal, but right now it looked like a feast.

 

"It's not gourmet Lock but I thought it would be best for your stomach. We have ice cream, but that might trigger your headache again. Maybe just some yogurt and fruit, we have cherries."

 

"Of course we have cherries," Sherlock thought. John had made a special trip to buy them for him just two days ago. "That will suffice John. I agree ice cream would be unwise."

 

The meal finished, John kissed the younger man's forehead. "Look, I'll just have a tidy up here. You should go have a hot shower, the steam will do wonders for that incomparable brain of yours. Then we can sit or cuddle or nap, whatever you want."

 

The water and steam made Sherlock feel boneless. He had spent so much energy staying worked up, he was knackered. But the fact remained, John had yet to pay for his treachery.

 

Coming out of the loo, Sherlock was startled to find the doctor sitting on their bed reading. He looked up at the taller man and smiled. "Did it help?"

 

"The steam was beneficial thank you. You're reading."

 

John grinned at the formality,"You're most welcome, and yes, the book would be an excellent clue."

 

Sherlock sneered, "Fancy yourself a good follower of clues?"

 

Puzzled by the snide remark, John closed the book. "Not so much as the wonderful man beside me. Come sit luv, rest your head."

 

Once again,momentarily disarmed by John's sincerity, Sherlock stretched out on the bed next to the ex-soldier. "I thought perhaps you might be in need of inane television."

 

"Just thought that might be a bit hard on your eyes pet. But again, if that's what you'd rather, we'll do whatever makes you happy."

 

Sherlock actually snorted, "Since when are my feelings the primary concern that drives your world John Watson ?" As overwrought as he was, even the world's only consulting detective couldn't ignore the brief look of confusion and hurt that passed over John's handsome but tired face. "That was overly harsh John. I have had a particularly trying day, quite frustrating in fact."

 

The look on John's face was that of revelation, but not a happy one. And at last, Sherlock allowed himself to feel smug. "Finally," the man-child gloated, he's seeing AND observing."

 

The older man appeared crestfallen. "Oh luv, how could your day have been anything else. First, you wake up with a migraine brought on by the dinner I bought last night, and then the entire day I've been harassing you. You're nauseous and I leave you rich bakery goods. Your head is exploding and I send you a tobacco sample that makes you use a microscope if you are to investigate it. And when I finally, FINALLY get something right with the lavender oil, I send the stuff in care of Mycroft of all people. Mycroft! It would have been kinder to let you keep the headache. Then, to top things off, as if all that isn't enough, I didn't even bother to thank you for what you did at the crime scene yesterday."

 

Sherlock stared at his boyfriend not comprehending, "What I did at the crime scene yesterday?"

 

"Letting me find that clue and bring it to Greg's attention. I know how many at the Yard think of me as your 'groupie', just hanging about like a harmless stalker. A lackey only good enough to hold the back end of your Belstaff."

 

Sherlock cringed at John's use of the very phrase he himself had used in his tirade towards Mycroft. Lackey, bit not good. "John-"

 

"No, it's alright Lock, let me finish. Times like yesterday mean so much to me, because even though I know you value my opinion and help, it's really important to me that others see me that way too. Seriously, I'm well aware that you didn't need to let me contribute to the solution of the case, but it just made my day. The one and only Sherlock Holmes pretending to miss a vital clue just to make the bumbling John Watson seem a little less pathetic. You are worth more than all the riches in the world, my darling Sher."

 

If there were any doubts that Sherlock Holmes was NOT a walking computer, they were dispelled that second. If he had been a machine, he would have gone off-line, permanently.

 

His Mind Palace "threw-up" a little and his ego imploded. "No, No,No," Sherlock screamed to himself, "This is so wrong! Not only is John mistakenly grateful for something I didn't do, but he is questioning his importance to the work and his intelligence. No!" 

 

The detective flipped towards John so violently, the shorter man nearly bounced off the bed.

 

"John Hamish Watson, you will never again voice the opinion that you are any less than the most trusted and capable partner, friend and lover that anyone could ever have. And I demand that the word pathetic be removed from your vocabulary. Futhermore, I did not LET you find that clue, it escaped my attention entirely."

 

John cast a dubious eye in the lanky man's direction. "Seriously,you missed it? You?"

 

The tips of Sherlock's ears turned pink. "Jaaaawwwwnnnnnn do I seem likely to fabricate something so scandalous about myself?"

 

The million watt smile that crossed John's face would be getting a private room in the Mind Palace. Sherlock would need to insure that he did something each day to put THAT smile on John's face.

 

"Well, what do you know. I found a clue, is there a reward?"

 

The tangle of jumpers and T-shirts, shirts and trousers, socks and pajama bottoms and one very red pair of pants pooled on the floor like the lava fresh from an erupting volcano.

 

Who did what to whom and how is lost to the ages as the blogger's hands were not free to use a keyboard, and the detective was too distracted to make observations. Sufficed to say, many things were kissed and licked, various parts were petted and sucked, and the one unchallenged fact was that, at the climax, Sherlock got to the bottom of things and John was in top form.

 

Mrs.Hudson could only relate, later, that the Boys seemed to do a great deal of laundry at the oddest hours. Also, that, for the first time ever, on a 30th November she played Christmas carols as loudly as she could stand, having convinced herself that what she heard was Sherlock and John singing along.

 

Later,in the warmth of their bed, John began to chuckle. "You know luv, if I'd known about that reward earlier, I'd have searched much harder for clues. Will do from now on. By the way, what do I get if I solve the case?"

 

Sherlock studied him seriously for a moment then answered in a posh accent, "My total amazement and The Hat."

 

They dissolved into fits of laughter followed by more adventures in intensive snogging.

 

When they were both nearly comatose, John pulled Sherlock to his chest, "Feeling all better now my love?"

 

Sherlock gifted John with his best 'oh pitiful me' expression and sighed. "Yes, I suppose, but I have to tell you Captain, you sir, most certainly know how to ruin a good strop."

 

Captain Watson snapped to attention. "Ruin a strop ? When did you have a strop?"

 

"I have been endeavoring to have one since last night!"

 

"Over what genius?"

 

"It doesn't matter, and besides, it represents one of only three times in memory that I was in error."

 

John couldn't resist giving the plush bum under his palm a playful smack. "Only three errors in memory, eh? So I understand, you made an error that I'm not to be made privy to. And, you've been having a strop for the last 24 hours."

 

"Correct and correct."

 

John snuggled both of them deeper into the plush mattress and tucked the duvet around them.

 

"Imagine that. William Sherlock Scott Holmes having one of his epic strops, and I didn't even notice"

 

Sherlock hugged his conductor of light even more tightly and spoke in his lover's ear, "Just one of a billion reasons why I will love you forever, My John, just one of a billion reasons."

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, because an epic strop is a terrible thing to waste.


End file.
